


Seize My Soul

by WhereAreTheBreaks



Series: Stiles is the name, wings are the game [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Vernon Boyd & Erica Reyes, Alpha Derek, Alternate Universe, Angel Stiles, Angst, Derek Is A Listener Not A Talker, Fluff, Getting Together, I'm kind of ignoring everything else right now, Kidnapping, M/M, Non-Canon Creatures (mentioned), Other Supernatural Creatures - Freeform, POV Stiles, Pining Stiles, Post-Season/Series 02, Rituals, Secrets, Winged Stiles, Working Through Feelings Together, ranting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-18
Updated: 2014-10-14
Packaged: 2018-02-13 18:14:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2160270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhereAreTheBreaks/pseuds/WhereAreTheBreaks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles Stilinski has been an angel of death for as long as he can remember. Delivering souls to the fiery pit of eternal damnation or to the pearly white gates of eternal happiness, it was kind of his thing. Being stationed in a town where supernaturals lived? It provided plenty of opportunities.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MickeyPlus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MickeyPlus/gifts).



> Who read through the beginning and said, "Sounds good." That was, apparently all the encouragement I needed.
> 
> Hope you all enjoy!
> 
> Unbeta'd, all mistakes are my own.

Running around with a young pack of werewolves had certainly made Stiles' job a _hell_ of a lot easier. Hell... get it?  
   
Maybe I should explain: you see, Stiles Stilinski has been an angel of death for as long as he can remember. Delivering souls to the fiery pit of eternal damnation or to the pearly white gates of eternal happiness, it was kind of his thing. Being stationed in a town where supernaturals lived? It provided plenty of opportunities.  
   
Not to brag or anything but, he's totally made a name for himself.  
   
On the other hand, it was hard to hide the fact that he would disappear for hours at a time (normally it only took a few minutes but... he like to chat. It made things easier for them.) to a pack of wolves who constantly needed his help. Not that Stiles minded, not when he got to look at Alpha werewolf Derek Hale's stupidly gorgeous grumpy face. Though with it came his stupidly awful plans. Not that he ever listened.  
   
Speaking of downsides; hanging around werewolves, a Kitsune, and a Banshee meant that they were unusually aware of everything around them; especially when everything seemed to be after them. So, one would think that they would realize that Stiles had gigantic black wings folded close to his back at any given moment or the fact that he probably smelt like death _all the freaking time_. Luckily, being the only supposed human in the pack, they never really paid too much attention to him. Not when he's always been this way.  
   
Which, phew! Can you imagine how up his ass they would be if he had become an angel of hell recently? Everyone would have an opinion about the morals of it all.  
   
Scott already had a hard enough time doing anything to someone who was actually killing people. Peter was already way too curious about him as it was, he didn't need the freaky homicidal zombie to be any closer than he already tended to be. Lydia would be totally creped out considering her current weirdness, and damn if her shitty powers weren't interesting to watch unfold.  
   
 **Anyway...**  
   
Hunters were the most problematic. It wasn't that they knew what he was or hunted him if they did. They seemed to have a sixth sense when it came to his kind; they knew something was off or supernatural, or whatever, but it wasn't enough too actually for them to get off their asses and do anything.  
   
Not they could have, following the code meant he was safe. Though, not all of them followed the code. Oh no, some of them actively sought out supernaturals; killing and decimating them without a care.  
   
Stiles was particularly malicious with those. It brought a smile to his mole spotted face when he heard their screams of pain and pleads for forgiveness or whatever.  
   
Recently a whole bunch of hunters had set up camp in various places around town, probably to help decimate the witch population. There had been a lot of activity on their end and it was beginning to attract the attention of the non supernaturals. Stiles could only help his dad hide stuff for so long.  
   
So when Derek slide easily through the open window of his bedroom he wasn't all that surprised.  
   
"What can I do for you oh mighty alpha?" Stiles asked mockingly, not even looking over from the laptop screen. He sensed more than heard Derek make himself comfortable on the bed as he waited for Stiles to finish what he was doing.  
   
The angel continued to read and scroll for another few minutes before turning to face the wolf after an almost painful eye roll.  
   
"What do you need me to do?" He asked in a flat tone. If Stiles was being honest with himself, he would have to admit that the pack only ever seemed to call or stop by when they needed him to do something for them.  
   
Derek stared at the younger man a moment longer, studying him really, before finally opening his stupid mouth to say: "Witches." That was it. No verbs or anything. Just one word. Honestly, the big bad alpha need to work on his social skills. Monosyllabic answers only got you so far.  
   
"Alright." He said slowly, stretching the word out. "What do you want me to do? Summon them?" He could but Derek didn't need to know that. "Find them? Research them? I need a little more than 'witches'." He imitated Derek's voice, laughing when the older man scowled harder.  
   
"Research them. They've killed a few people in town and I want to know everything about them." Derek practically forced out, grimacing as if in pain. Stiles knew that they had killed, and it had been more than a few.  
   
"Alright, don't strain yourself. I'll see what I can do." Stiles said with a heavy sigh as he spun around in his desk chair, already clicking away at his keyboard looking at links and folklore for answers that he mostly already had.  
   
He hardly even noticed when Derek left...  
   
Total lie, he could probably tell you the exact time that man with that perfect hair had gracefully climbed back through his window. It wasn't his fault that he had grown so fond of his pack mates. Sure, they're totally a bunch of assholes but so is he; so they get along just fine... most of the time.  
   
He finished up his research around midnight and hopped into a quick shower to wash off the day's sweat. Before he threw on some clothes and climbed into bed he unfurled the heavy black wings that he'd been keeping so close to his body, stretching them out to get rid of the stiffness.  
   
He admired the downy feathers in the low light from his computer screen, watching as the feathers took on a blue tinge. He shook them out for a little while longer before folding them close once more and climbing between the cool sheets of his bed, falling into a peaceful slumber soon after.  
 

*********************

   
He woke up the next morning to the annoyingly persistent buzzing and beeping of his alarm. Ever since he got the stupid thing he's been half tempted to just smash it to pieces, then set those pieces on fire and just sit back and watch the plastic melt. Alas, it is the only thing that gets him up in the morning aside from the heavenly scent of orange rolls baking.  
   
Stiles moans and groans in the usual fashion before rolling unceremoniously out of bed and shuffling over to the bathroom. A couple of minutes later finds him chugging orange juice and ideally scratching at his stomach as he very slowly becomes more aware of the world. The Sheriff is gone and the house is achingly quiet and Stiles is particularly incoherent and grumbly (he totally blames Derek, the alpha was rubbing off on him.) so as he makes his way through the house he flips on the radio, welcoming the wave of noise.  
   
For seven o'clock in the morning on a Tuesday he's pretty proud of his cognitive abilities.  
   
Stiles returns to the bathroom; brushes his teeth and attempts to make his hair look a little less like he just rolled out of bed and a little more put together. It doesn't happen. He might as well have run his fingers through his hair, it would have had the same effect.  
   
After that he digs through his drawers full of totally tasteful t-shirts, pulling out what he deems perfect for the day and hunting down the hoodie and/or plaid shirt that he knows goes with it... sort of. Maybe he should take Lydia up on her offer to completely redo his wardrobe... Nah, he'd spent years putting together the plaid perfection. Do you have any idea how long it takes to accumulate the number of hoodies he owns? Too long to go back.  
   
Once he was reasonably well dressed for school he grabbed his bag and made his way out to his baby blue Jeep parked in the driveway, praying to anyone and everyone in the sky that his jeep would start up without a hassle.  
   
Amazingly enough it made it all the way to the school parking lot without anything... horrible happening. That was miracle enough for him.  
   
And, of course, nature has to find a balance.  
   
That's why Scott's bummed out face with the intense puppy dog eyes in full effect doesn't carry the usual impact. He's beginning to expect the awful things that happen to them on a semi-regular basis. Which should probably be profoundly disturbing, but somehow isn't.  
   
"Dude," Scott started once Stiles had walked over to him. "The witches attacked again last night." He paused looking around at the crowd of students leisurely walking into the school as if to make sure that nobody was going to be listening in. "That makes victims..." He trailed off for a quick second as he thought. "Seven and eight."  
   
"I know. What the hell are they doing? Why haven't the hunters stepped in yet?" Something felt off about the whole thing, it had to be bigger than they all thought.  
   
"I don't know, apparently Argent isn't exactly answering his calls to help out." Scott dutifully informed his fellow pack mate. "Mom said that all the victims were drained of blood and had some weird symbol carved into their chest. Do you know what it is?"  
   
"Nope. Dad hasn't had the time to show me pictures, what with all the _murders_ keeping him out all night." Stiles sighed before scratching the back of his neck while he zoned out for a second. After the moment's pause he started talking again. "So, we know that it's witches. What if all this is some big thing? Something that could be potentially catastrophic?" He flailed his arms harshly to demonstrate the severity of the situation.  
   
"Don't be so melodramatic." Scott adjusted the strap of his backpack, looking over at his twitchy friend. "Wouldn't someone have realized if something seriously horrible was about to happen. Werewolf instincts are killer, I think we would get some weird tingling feeling if Beacon Hills as we know it was about to come to an end."  
   
"First off, are you trying to say that werewolves have spidey senses? Second, are you trying to say that I'm a human and couldn't possibly know what I'm talking about? Because that's... such bullshit." On all accounts, Stiles totally knew waaaaay more than Scott and he wasn't human. Well... not technically. But Stiles had done a _ton_ for the pack. Hell, he was the one who had single handedly taught Scott to control the shift.  
   
The bell rang right as Scott opened his mouth to answer.  
   
"Sorry dude, but I gotta go. If I'm late to class one more time Harris is going to give me another detention." Stiles slaps Scott's arm before he turns to rush of in the direction of his chemistry class. Glad for the excuse to get away.  
   
"I'll see you later." He grumbles under his breath as he passes, knowing good and well that the other boy can hear him.  
   
It wasn't until he was seated in class that he realized that he forgot to tell Scott that he was going to see Derek after school about the whole dark magic practitioner’s fiasco. After it had occurred to him it was all Stiles seemed capable of thinking of for more than a handful of seconds. He needed to figure out what they were up too, nothing else really seemed to matter.  
   
By the time first period was over Stiles had already formulated a plan for the evening after he stopped by Derek's to drop off the research.  
   
The next two periods passed in a meaningless blur of useless information that won't get anyone anywhere in life. Just like every other school day.  
   
Stiles suddenly found himself sitting next to actual puppy Scott McCall during English as other students filed into the room.  
   
"Stiles. Dude, I'm sorry about earlier; I didn't mean to imply anything like what you were suggesting. Most of the time you know what you’re talking about and what you're doing." The 'even though we don't' was left unsaid and heavily implied on Stiles' part. "But sometimes, the ideas you get... they're a little out there." Scott gave him a look, as if to say, 'can you blame us for not believing.'  
   
In other words, 'you can't blame me for doubting your intuition because I don't know that you aren't actually human and have just as good a sense for danger as a werewolf, if not better.'  
   
"Its fine, I was..." He's at a loss for words because it isn't fine. No one takes what he says seriously because he's human and "couldn't possibly be helpful." Luckily he's saved by the text alert on his phone going off.  
   
Leaning back in his seat, Stiles slid the phone out of his pocket  
   
 _** Papa Stilinski **_  
                       I don't know what's going on in this town but you guys need to find a way to stop it. There has been a double murder down by the old refinery.  
   
With a sigh Stiles passes phone over to Scott and slouches farther into his chair, watching the way his friend's eyebrows climb further up his forehead as he stares down at the backlit screen. They briefly met eyes before their teacher walked into the room, quieting the rowdy teenagers and starting class. That all too quick flash meant that they had a lot to talk about, and the sooner it happened, the better.  
   
During class his mind wandered, his thought about the two lost souls waiting for someone to escort them to where they needed to be and how they might be able to help him. Unfortunately, he wasn't the only guide to the afterlife hanging around.  
   
The thing is, when you're a guide to the other side or an angel of death or reaper, etc., you have this kind of radar system so that you can go where you're needed and find those that need you.  It lets you know about every little movement they take and it is the most distracting thing that Stiles has to deal with. The constant knowledge of the locations of everyone who has died is a bit overwhelming. Just a bit.  
   
So, while everyone else was discussing the similarities of today's society and the society in George Orwell's _1984_ , Stiles was hoping that no one picked up the latest victims of the dark practitioners that seemed to be out for blood. He had more than a few things to ask them, but first he need to see Derek.  
   
His next period was lunch followed by a free period, if he played all his cards right he could go drop everything off at Derek's, maybe get his opinion on things, and head out to the souls with plenty of time.  
   
For the rest of his stupid class he kept a quarter of an ear on his teacher and classmates while otherwise focused on the souls aimlessly wandering. Zoning in and out of the debate that has taken over the class he imagines what Derek even does all day when they aren't around.  
   
Stiles thinks about the exercise he knows Derek does, how sweat soaked and lickable he gets. The muscles rippling delightfully under his skin. He also thinks of the books that line the walls and the amount of reading him must get done in a day as he sits in absolute silence, wearing stupid black framed glasses that make Stiles want to cuddle and watch movies after a long day.  
   
Of course that eventually leads to Derek lifting Stiles up with powerful hands wrapped around his thighs as he pushes Stiles against the cool metal of the loft wall. Those stupid glasses crooked and his perfect hair all mused as he devours Stiles' mouth. His strong clawed hands splayed out over his vulnerable stomach as Derek gets lost in the gentle exploration of his body-  
   
"Mr. Stilinski, perhaps you would like to share your opinion?" His teacher ask with false kindness.  
   
Wow, awkward boner alert.  
   
"Nope." He answered quickly. "I mean no, I feel that my opinion was shared and already explained." He forced a smile.  
   
She gave him a doubtful look before moving on to people who actually had something to contribute. He breathed a sigh of relief before retreating back into his own mind.  
   
This time he thought of less potentially awkward situations. Like what the fucking hell was going on; four deaths in twenty-four hours wasn't exactly normal, even for Beacon Hills. Logically, that means shit is going to hit the fan and it's going to hit it hard and soon.  
   
Whatever ritual the witches were doing wasn't anything he'd ever heard of and despite Scott's insistence that it isn't as big as he's trying to make it, he was going to figure it out. Hopefully before they finished.  
   
*********************  
   
As soon as the bell rang Stiles began to quickly shove his papers and pens into his bag, not caring about wrinkles or the crumpled up pages that would undoubtedly be pushed to the bottom of his bag, never to be found again until after the fact. Scott was right behind him, not even bothering to zip up the bag before chasing his friend out into the crowded halls. Stiles was full out jogging towards the parking lot, weaving through the crowd like it was nothing.  
   
"Stiles!" Scott shouted to be heard over the oncoming horde. "Stiles, wait up!" He shouted again, ignoring the dirty looks from people that he had bumped into in his attempt to get his friends attention.  
   
Lydia and Allison noticed Stiles racing through the halls and chased swiftly after him, just knowing that something was wrong. Neither shouted for the boy’s attention only jogged to keep up.  
   
All three of them finally managed to meet up with him in the parking lot.  
   
"Stiles!" They shouted in unison.  
   
The man in question nearly fell over as he spun around to face them. "Oh my god."  
   
"Where are you going?" Lydia asked. She stepped towards him, she wasn't even trying to be menacing but was excelling at it nonetheless.  
   
"I was headed over to Derek's to give him some research I dug up last night and to get his opinion on the ritualistic sacrifices. Hopefully with enough time to make it to sixth period."  
   
"Ritualistic sacrifices? I've heard my dad talking about them with some of the other hunters in the area." Allison glances at each of them, she looks concerned. "The witches took and killed a hunter recently, to say the rest are upset and in mourning would be an understatement. They've been organizing something recently but my dad won't let me get involved. Won't even talk about it."  
   
"All the more reason to get everything figured out." Stiles pointed out. The last thing this town needs is a bunch of hunters all trigger happy after the loss of one of their own.  
   
Lydia, who had been looking on curiously, spoke up. "In the news they've been saying that the bodies have all had the same symbol carved into their chest, have you been able to figure out what it means?" She looks over at Stiles with wide questioning eyes as she tucks a loose piece of hair behind her ear.  
   
Stiles clasps his hands and sort of bounces on his heels. "Unfortunately... no. Maybe Peter will have some idea and will deign to provide us with an actual answer."  
   
Scott honest to god snorted at Stiles' words. "Unlikely. Peter only looks after himself, he's not going to help us without some sort of incentive." Scott says quickly. He throws a muscular arm around Allison's waist, pulling her into the conversation.  
   
Allison cringes, "Scott's right, Peter isn't going to do anything without a reason and a well thought out plan to back it up." She looks at them each expectantly, but when she turns to face Scott all she gets in return is a disgustingly cute peck on the nose that makes her break out in a blinding dimpled smile.  
   
"Okay..." Stiles says as he watches the couple with a look of disgust before turning to face the only sane person he knows. "How about we just go to Deaton's after school? See if he knows anything." He's quick to compromise, people to see and all that. Each second spent here talking is a second less to talk to the souls.  
   
Scott and Allison are too momentarily absorbed in kissing each other to answer... if they even heard the question. Lydia just nodded, relieved that no one was trusting the Zombie in a V-neck. So, without further ado, he leaves.  
   
*********************

Stiles was tearing down the road that runs next toward the loft, it's empty and quiet and he's definitely enjoying the break from school. Sometimes it's good to get out of that head space and just breathe. To take a step back and relax.

As Stiles rounds a gentle curve he  catches sight of a dirty white Honda pulled off to the side of the road with two older looking woman talkling animatedly next to the popped hood. It looks like they've been out for a while if the sweat that soaks their shirts is anything to go by. Both looked to be in their early thirties or late twenties, one had curly blonde hair and the other had straight dark hair.

When Stiles was close enough he pulled over and rolled his window down so he could talk to them easily. 

"Do you need any help? A jump or anything like that?" He said politely.

The dark haired woman eyed him suspiciously while the blonde jumped excitedly. "Oh my god, yes! We've been hoping someone would come by here for almost an hour."

"Okay, give me a sec." Stiles said.  He jumped out of his jeep and rushing to snag the cables from the back, torn between wanting to help and needing to hurry. He'd been raised to help when he was able, being the son of a law enforcement officer; but, dad didn't raise no fool, he knows to be weary of everyone.

"Thank you." The bubbly blonde squeals. Her dark haired companion seems to give him an appreciative grimace. She's definitely starting to reminds him of someone he knows.

He smiles at them both before ducking under the hood quickly hooking the cables in place.

"Alright, those should be good." He mutters to himself.

"Yeah." Stiles jumps an turns to face the blonde. He hadn't heard he approach. "Listen, we're really sorry about this. You seem like a nice guy."

He barely had time to think before the hood of their car slammed into his head. "Son of a-" his vision started to blur and he stumbled away from the car. "Bitch." He blurted as his vision went black, Stiles doesn't remember hitting the ground.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has Stiles and Derek in chains while kidnapped. Stiles gets hurt and drugged. If you aren't comfortable with that (though nothing is graphic) be sure to skip this chapter.

All he could hear was the rattling of chains, the noise set off a dull throbbing as he slowly blinked his eyes open. Once his eyes adjusted to the darkness he tried to take in the few vague too-square-to-be-distinctive outlines to figure out where he was, tugging at his bindings to see how loose they were. Not lose at all, the pounding in his head had distracted him from the cool bite of metal around his chest, ankles, and wrists.

Did he mention he was shirtless? And barefoot? How annoying. And cold.

"Look who decided to wake up and join in on the fun." A squeaky, nasally voice spoke from somewhere behind him. "Now you're not all by yourself wolf boy." Queue the evil laugh. Whoever it was, they actually did it very well, and they sounded like Yzma, which was weird. Stiles might even applaud them if he wasn't chained up.

"Thank you dearie. I'm glad you approve, it almost makes me feel a little bad that I'll have to kill you and your friend here. That is, more so than I did when I had to take all those pesky shirts off you and discovered just how unique you really are." The voice spoke, sending a nervous chill down his spine as her words sunk in.

"You guys know that I'm the Sheriff's son right? He's going to realize I'm missing when I don't show up at school again after lunch. And my best friend, he's a werewolf, can track me down with his hunter girlfriend." Stiles was hoping to make them nervous but they just tisked at him.

"Darling we don't care, you’re going to be dead long before anyone has a chance to show up. And even if they could figure it out, they won't be able to find you until we're done." He couldn't help but be a little scared, Scott was oblivious at the best of times, the witch might be right; no one would realize in time.

"Leave him alone." Someone, the other hostage, growled in a totally familiar fashion. Of course, it was Derek Hale. One of the few people he didn't want to know about how much of a badass freak he really was. His more than a crush.

"Aww, poor little alpha doesn't want to lose anyone else." The voice teased maliciously. There was more laughter, only this time there were more than one voice. Stiles hadn't even noticed their approaching footsteps.

Derek growled and tried to lurch forward, loudly rattling his now straining chains. It didn't really sink into Stiles' mind at the time but a faint hissing could be heard, the metal links where no doubt coated in wolfsbane and cut into Derek's skin with every movement.

"Don't listen to them." Stiles grumbled, his voice was raspy and his throat longed for a glass of water. His head lulled heavy against the back of his chair as he tried to regain his bearings. "Just another group of crazy people running around killing people. Nothing we haven't dealt with before."

Stiles could hear light footstep moving closer to him. "Angel's come out to play." Someone said with excitement. It was a new voice, deeper and more masculine. A few others chuckled from their places in the shadows but none moved to step forward into their line of sight.

"Don't call him that." Derek sounded super angry, which while not surprising given their situation, was unusual.

Over the past couple of months, ever since Boyd and Erica's almost runaway, Derek has worked a lot harder to become the alpha that Sti- everyone knew he could be. Especially sense he had the help of Lydia, who guided him into being the type of leader that was respected and obeyed but not overbearing and unreasonable. This meant that Derek didn't really get overly angry anymore, he had a pack to ground him. He didn't need anger as an anchor anymore. He had family.

He was pulled out of his internal ramble by a surprised laugh.

"He really doesn't know? Oh my god, do any of them know?" The person Stiles assumed was the leader paused briefly a though he was expecting an answer. "You truly are one of a kind." It wasn't spat out as one might expect, it was said as if the man admired him for his secrecy.

"Stiles? What are they talking about?" Derek sounded like he was talking around a mouth full of fangs, and knowing how impulsive his alpha had a tendency to be, he probably was.

"As fun as this all is to watch, we're sort of on a time crunch. You really should have sorted this all out before you were kidnapped." This totally ludicrous statement was followed shortly by hysterical laughter. Again. This person was starting to seem more like someone with a little too much caffeine in their system than a person who has killed at least ten people in a ritualistic manner in the past handful of days.

Neither Derek nor himself dignified that with a response, (How would you even respond to something like that?) and after a few more failed attempts at goading the small group leaves the room. Stiles and Derek are alone at long last.

For a few minutes they do nothing but sit in silence, staring into the darkness that surrounds them. Stiles couldn't seem to shake the blurred edge of his vision.

"Did they drug me?" Stiles asked, louder than he meant to, breaking the silence. He'd been going for outrage but instead ended up sounding hung-over. "And to think all I was trying to do was help out a couple of girls whose car had broken down on an empty road... saying it out loud makes it sound like a really awful idea."

Derek grunted his affirmation, too focused on trying to break the chains to really say anything. Stiles could hear the straining of the metal as it got closer and closer to the end goal. Before it could be reached though, he had to stop because of the pain.

Once Derek stopped they fell into companionable silence once more. Well... When Stiles says silence he means all he can really hear is Derek panting behind him as he waits for the skin to heal. With the constant press of the metal, it definitely took a while.

"Was it me or did they sound like cartoon villains rather than serious killers with a cause?" Stiles asked with a small laugh. He was trying to not focus on the situation.

Derek snorted quietly. It really shouldn't have been anywhere near attractive, but hearing Derek even sort of laugh sent a shiver down Stiles' spine. He wished he could see the small curve of Derek's lips.

"I don't suppose you were telling the truth about people looking for you soon?" Derek asked hopefully.

Stiles couldn't help but cringe a little bit. "Sorry to pop your bubble there."

He turned his head so that he could at least see part of the back of Derek's head. "What do you think they're up to?" He asked.

Before Derek even had the opportunity to open his mouth a new person burst into the room, throwing the light switch. Both of them turned quickly away from the blinding light.

A man with swirling tattoos walked into the room; he was tall and bulky with long dark hair, he was carrying a bulky bag that clanged as he walked. He didn't say a word as he walked across the room towards a small folding table set up near them.

"Whatcha- ugh- Whatcha got there?" Stiles stutters out. His hands nervously curl into a fist before unfurling. He waited, licking at his lips, for the burly man to answer, or at least say something. But all the strange man did was unzip the medium size black bag and start to pull out the metallic contents.

Well, this was no doubt going to end horribly.

Behind him, he felt Derek go stiff- unlike Stiles, Derek could see the horrible things being set out onto the table.

No matter how much Stiles magically managed contorted himself, Derek blocked his view completely. And, if Derek's low rumbling growl was anything to go by than it wasn't something that Stiles would like.

After the man placed the last object in the line on the table he left just as silently as he came. Not even sparring them a glance.

"What all did he pull out of that bag?" Stiles questioned. Twisted to look at the back of Derek's head once more.

"Different kinds of knives. Probably for torture." Derek replied simply. He sounded resigned, it didn't really seem worth the effort to be surprised at this point.

"Not the good kind I assume." Stiles sighed. He twisted his hands around in the chains trying to slip them through.

Derek just shakes his head with a sigh.

Stiles twists his body so that his arm isn't at such a weird angle for trying to escape the chains around his wrist and the sensation he feels when he does so shocks a gasp out of him. A white hot zing of pleasure shoots through him as the edge of his folded wing rubs up against something, it's unlike anything he's ever experienced before.

"What the hell was that?" Derek asks almost casually. Everything goes still, or at least it does in Stiles' mind, because there is no way he can worm his way out of answering. They are stuck together until death or rescue. And Stiles, he just can't handle the possible outcomes of answering truthfully.

He growls in frustration. "I'll make you a deal wolf man, I'll answer. But only after we escape unscathed."

An awkward silence falls over the two, neither knowing what to say to make everything easier. For the first time since the lights were turned on, Stiles looks around at the basement they're in. There's nothing incredibly special or identifying about it, so Stiles has no clue where they are.

"I'm surprised I don't know this place considering your recent hauntings." He jokes.

Before anything else is allowed to happen people neither of them know start to flood the room, surrounding the two. After everyone arrives they begin chanting in a language Stiles doesn't know, not that that is too hard, and squeeze in tighter. The leader picks up a simple rune ingrained knife from the table and moves towards Stiles with a gleam in her eye.

He struggles harder, pulling and straining uselessly against the bindings, he can hear Derek snarling and fighting to get free. The elderly woman closes in, the knife is inches away from his pale smooth chest when the idea hits him like the need for a bathroom after eating too spicy food... or beans.

_His wings._

He unfurls them with a quick snap, he feels the slight resistant of the metal that has been chaffing his wrists and chest crack like a twig. The black giants break the chain with nowhere near as much effort as he was putting in without them. The broken pieces of interlocking metal falls to the floor around him in a loud crag of noise that startled everyone but him into a shocked pause.

He took advantage of the silence and jumped into action; he spun around and pulled at Derek's chains, trying desperately to give the older man enough extra space to wriggle his hands loose. Derek pulled with Stiles and finally the burning chains fell from his raw wrists. Of course, that’s what made the coven snap out of their ravine and grab at the assorted knives before they lunged forward, cutting and slicing at anything within reach.

No longer hindered Derek sprung from his chair and fought to disarm the nearest witch. They were fairly short fights, all he really had to do was break a few wrists and well- no more knives. Stiles will have you know that he didn't just stand there admiring the muscles in Derek's back while this was going on, he was totally helping by fighting off the High Priestess, the won who sound frighteningly like Yzma, who was still coming at him with a blade.

You're probably think, "isn't he an angel? Can't he just blah blah blah?" While still good questions (ones he too would like to be answered,) the things you're asking about don't seem to apply to Stiles. All he's ever been able to figure out is how to literally fly, not like in supernatural; he's tried, and escort souls to their final destination. Any other angel mojo has yet to be unlocked by the super-secret passcode that no one feels like sharing.

Right, so; the elderly woman, Yzma, and Stiles grappled for control: twisting and elbowing, even slapping, at each other in attempts to get the other to let go.  Derek was running around the place disarming the other coven members, seemingly oblivious to what Stiles was doing and the giant black wings that fanned out around Stiles.

God Derek was oblivious sometimes. One time he didn't notice that Jackson and Scott had switched bodies when a witch had decided to go all Freaky Friday on them when she saw them arguing outside a coffee shop. It took a week to figure out how to change them back. Derek never seemed to notice.

Getting of track again. So while Stiles stole a quick glance at Derek, to make sure he was okay and to see his progress, the high priestess anticlimactically elbowed him in the gut. His moment of shock was all she needed to pry her knife loose and cut a long gash down his abdomen.

"Stiles?!" Derek shouted. He sounded worried. There were a couple of 'oofs' and then Stiles could hear Derek running towards him.

She wasn't deterred though and continued to slowly slice the intricate symbol into his body. Stiles' seemed to be fading in and out of almost unconsciousness.

“You should know, I’m not used to doing this on live bodies.” The elder woman said with a smile, almost shy, smile. “So you’ll have to excuse any mistakes I might make. You’re so wriggly.” It was like she was asking a six year old to sit still so that she could brush their hair.

 Before she could get very fair in her carving the large metal door to the basement was kicked open and hunters filled the room, armed and ready to fire, leading them was Chris Argent.

*********************

He really isn’t sure what happens after that, everything just sort of runs together in a mess of blood and all too brief gun fire. The last thing he sees before he passes out is Derek's face.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ha ha just kidding about that whole three chapters thing, it's totally four now. 
> 
> Sorry for the wait, I hope it was worth it.

Derek looked over at Stiles after the last witch was either unconscious or dead, he wasn't sure and he didn't care. All he cared about was Stiles laying in a crumpled heap in a pool of his own blood. The dark wings that protruded from the pale plains of his back were matted with deep red patches of blood, feathers were sticking out this way and that and Derek just wanted to reach out and stroke them back into place.

Instead he rushed to Stiles' side and quickly pulled the younger man into his arms, lifting the angel easily, and walked out of the basement. Leaving everything behind with only one thing on his mind.

Chris Argent walked behind him, watching his men to keep them from doing anything not only rash but stupid. Approaching an Alpha with a wounded pack mate would have been one of the stupidest things to do. Not that Derek would have even noticed. He was too focused on getting Stiles to help to pay attention to anything else.

It wasn't until Derek was carefully setting Stiles into the back seat, arranging the pale rubber limbs onto the seat that Chris finally spoke.

"We're not going to a hospital I take it." He said coolly, ignoring the alpha's attempt at a death glare. Derek was too worried to make it work.

"No. But thankfully we know someone that can help." Derek said as he climbed into the driver's seat, waiting on the Argent to hurry up and get his ass in the car. While the older man climbed into the car Derek whipped out his phone and dialed the one person they needed and could only hope that they picked up.

The phone rang and rang, and then finally:

"Dude, I'm in the middle of class." Scott whispered into the phone.

"We need your mom to meet us at Deaton's." Derek answered quickly. Even to himself he sounded panicky, he was sure that Scott would be able to hear the jackrabbit beat of his heart. Derek pulled away from the warehouse and started to drive towards town.

"Why aren't you healing? Is it hunters again?" Scott whispered into the phone. Logical questions, Argent did make a habit of harassing Derek sometimes. One time Allison had come home from a pack meeting crying, from laughter because Stiles had done something completely ridiculous. Chris thought she was actually crying and well...

"It's not me, its Stiles." Derek looked in the rear view mirror to check on said pack mate. It seemed like the bleeding had slowed.

"What's wrong? Why aren't you taking him to the hospital?" Scott asked anxiously. Derek could hear the steady beat of his footsteps as he paced.

Derek looked over at Chris briefly before replying. "Something's sort of... popped up." He cringed at his awful explanation.

Scott sighed over the receiver, "Alright, I'll call her and we'll meet you there."

Derek didn't have the chance to reply because Scott hung up before he could even open his mouth.

During the short drive to Deaton's the car stayed unusually quiet while Derek broke every traffic law necessary. Ignoring red lights on empty streets as they grew nearer and nearer to their destination. It was times like these that Derek thanked god he lived in a small town.

They pulled into the vet office parking lot right as Melissa was jumping out of her car with a bag overflowing with supplies.

"Oh my god! What the hell happened to him?" She shrieked before rushing to Derek's side. She inspected the long gashes that covered Stiles' pale chest, muttering to herself all the while. Derek could see the moment Melissa disconnected from her emotions, it was a shift into professionalism as she tried to treat Stiles like any other patient.

They ran into Deaton's office in lieu of answering, Melissa broke the mountain ash barrier at the front desk and Derek slipped past her to gently set Stiles down on the cold metal table in the center of the back room. Deaton trailed in behind them.

"I'm not a doctor Mr. Hale, I think you would be much better suited at a hos-." Deaton cut himself off once he saw the pale body stretched across his examination table. Stiles was coated in still drying blood and his ebony wings hung limp over the edge of the table at an odd not-quite-straight-not-quite-downturned angle. "I see what you mean." Deaton sighed as he snapped his latex gloves in place.

"The lacerations don't look to be too deep. He's lost a lot of blood but he should be fine as long as nothing else was damaged internally." Melissa told Deaton pointedly as she started to pull some supplies from her bag.

After that Derek couldn't really understand half the medical jargon that came out of the mouths as they set to work on Stiles. All he could really do was step back and watch, hoping that everything was going to be okay because he needed everything to be okay. Derek couldn't lose anyone else. He was so wrapped up in his pacing and watching, updating Scott whenever he texted, he didn't even notice when Argent left.

After what felt like hours Melissa and Deaton stepped away from a reasonably well patched up and somewhat cleaned up Stiles.

"He should be waking up sometime in the next few hours, mostly he needs to rest and shower. He'll be sticking his nose in everything soon enough." Melissa said with a small smile as she pulled her blood covered gloves.

"I gave him something to help him sleep and heal, it shouldn't wear off for a little while." Deaton looked down at the wings briefly. "But I'm not entirely sure, what with his... unique body. It might not work the way it should or last as long. We'll just have to wait and see." He said with a sense of finality. Deaton left Melissa and Derek behind with a simple shrug of his shoulders.

"Is he always like that?" Melissa asked, dark curls bouncing as she turned to face Derek.

"Pretty much."

He didn't say anything else and neither did she. They waited for Stiles to wake up in companionable silence, it wasn't even thirty minutes before her pager started to go off, demanding her presence at the hospital.

"I gotta go." Is all she says as she quickly gathers her things.

As soon as she's out of sight Derek moves to stand next to Stiles' prone form, gently laying a hand over his. It strikes him at that moment how much Stiles means to him. Stiles has always meant a lot to the pack, a sort of guiding light, even of none of them really realize but it didn't make it any less real.

To Derek, Stiles was balance; the voice in his silence, the bubbly excitement to his sullenness. And Derek wouldn't have it any other way. Stiles wasn't just someone he wanted, he was someone Derek needed.

"I need you to be okay." Derek whispered into the clasped hands. "Please be okay when you wake up. I can't lose you too."

 

*********************

 

Stiles is reluctant to wake up; he's under a blanket of exhaustion, his everything is sore, and to be frank he really doesn't want to. He's comfortable and he's warm, that right there is reason enough not to move much less wake up. There's something important though, he can't put his finger on it, it's on the tip of his tongue, and whatever other cliché you might have.

But he heard whispers, too distant to actually make out but the voices sounded familiar. They sounded desperate, Stiles could have sworn he heard a few choked back sobs but he couldn't be too sure. The voices sounded like they were pleading and something warm engulfed his hand.

He knew he needed to walk up, he couldn't quite remember why or how he fell asleep in the first place but he slowly cracked his eyes open anyway, blinking away the darkness.

Deaton and Derek were leaning over him; silhouetted against the harsh lights of the vet's office.

"Welcome back, Mr. Stilinski." 

Stiles groaned in reply and moved to get up, but as soon as he started to push himself into an upright position two warm hands on his shoulders stopped him. The heavy weight and steady pressure forced him to lay back down on the cool metal that sent a shiver down his spin. Wait, cool metal?

He shifted to look at himself and sure enough; pale, mole spotted skin as far as the eye could see.

Oh god!

Working himself into a panic Stiles first looked to his left and then his right and yep, his wings. Oh god oh god oh god. 

"Stiles, you need to calm down." That was Derek; he was trying to sound reassuring, but really? You don't tell someone who is panicking to calm down. It isn't that easy, that simple. It just makes them panic more because they can't calm down. Stiles can't calm down.

He's a freak of nature and know they know. He's a freak with huge black wings and he can't breathe, his chest is heaving but he can't breathe. His vision is swimming. His chest is constricting. He can't think of what to do. 

Deaton and Derek are calling his name but he can't seem to make himself reply. The room suddenly seems too small and too dark.

Stiles didn't even notice the prick when Deaton gently pushed into the crook of his elbow.

"What are you giving him?" Derek asked. He sounded muffled and angry.

"Just a little something to help him relax." Deaton replied, distracted by whatever he was doing to Stiles.

After a minute or two Stiles knew exactly what Deaton was talking about. All his muscles seemed to relax one by one, the room expanded back to it's usual size and the room came a bit more into focus. Everything seemed to have a fuzzy edge to it. His breathing slowed down, and it was just... woah.

He said as much out loud.

Deaton chuckled and Derek looked between the two, worried. "Are you sure that he's gonna be okay?"

"Yeah totally fine." Then Deaton left the room. 

Derek turned back towards him with a weird expression on his face. Or maybe it was only weird because Stiles wasn't use to seeing it. But Derek looked vulnerable. 

"Hey." Derek said.

"Hi." Stiles answered with an almost shy smile.

"How are you feeling?" 

"Achy." It isn't what Stiles wants to say. "Like a coven of witches wanted to sacrifice me in some weird ass ritual." He licked his lips before cracking a shit eating grin. 

Derek huffed and rolled his eyes, lips quirking in response. He reaches over quickly, gently wrapping his hand around Stiles' arm. Thick black veins move up Derek's arm on contact, his Scowly face flickers but is otherwise constant. Stiles tries to jerk his arm out of Derek's grip, but he just tightens his hold.

"You don't have to do that." Stiles practically whispers, gesturing to the black veins and shit.

"I want to." Is Derek's equally quiet answer.

They are totally having a moment, Stiles thinks as he meets Derek's gaze. His heart speeds up minutely in his chest. Derek, the asshole, quirks an eyebrow and looks a little too smug for his liking.

After another minute or two of staring into each other's eyes and pain-pulling, Derek finally lets go. Now that pain is mostly gone Stiles is left with a pleasant floaty feeling, and yet all his limbs seem to weigh a thousand pounds. It's getting harder and harder to keep his eyes open, and he thinks Derek is gently pushing his grown out hair away from his forehead. 

Just like his mom used to do when he was sick; she used to sit on the edge of his bed, book in head, stroking his sweat soaked hair while she read (doing the voices because the voices are always awesome, especially when she did it.) until he fell asleep. 

And there he was a few years later falling asleep all over again. 

Before he passed out for who knows how long, Stiles tried to say, "Don't tell the others." But he can't freaking remember if he did or not; like, goddamn it drugs.

And then he totally passed out.

 

*********************

 

When Stiles woke up again he was, surprisingly enough, alone in Deaton's back room. He couldn't hear any footsteps or the muffled voices of people in another room. He sat up, slowly this time, and inspected the neat black stitches that held his chest and stomach closed, the blood had been washed off; the top of his jeans were still saturated with the red liquid. He brought his wings around where he could see them, ignoring the twinge of discomfort that came with the motion and inspected the mess of black that sprouted from his back. Hah, rhyming. 

They were definitely going to need a good washing later. The appendages were... gag worthy really, all blood and dirt and just, it was _on him_. He had to hold back a full body shudder of disgust. 'Cause goddamn. Nasty.

The feathers were kind of crusty from all the blood. Ew! How long had he been asleep? 

Stiles glanced over at the sleek metal clock that Deaton kept on the far wall. It was just barely too far for his puny human eyes to read, but then again, he'd have to know when he woke up the first time. He didn't.

Stiles sighed somewhat dejectedly. Like, damn, today was not his day. Kidnapped and sliced open, he didn't even want to think about how much worse everything could get.

He gingerly pushed himself up and off the examination table and practically bolted towards the door. Sure his torso hurt and everything, but hey, he was alive.

Stiles wondered momentarily, who  
might Derek have told about his... 'condition'. Did his dad even know he had been hurt? Did Scott show up? Deaton knew, Argent knew, who else?

He quickly patted down the pockets of his pants, looking for his keys, before he realized; they'd nabbed him from the side of the road on his way to Derek's. His jeep was probably still sitting off to the side with it's hood popped. Stiles groaned loudly, annoyed. Hopefully no one decided to steal some parts. (Or wack him in the face with them, he's looking at you Erica.) 

Stiles is just sort of awkwardly standing there, midstep, as he tried to figure this whole thing out. The clinic isn't that far, he could totally walk home and get his dad to drive him out to the jeep later. Yes, that sounded like a good idea


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This work just keeps getting longer and longer!

What an awful idea!

Who let Stiles decide that this was a brilliant idea?

First off, he totally didn't read any clocks or bother to look out a freaking window before setting out. Second, he didn't even notice how dark it was until he was almost halfway there. And lastly, he didn't grab a shirt, which meant that he had to walk through the alleys to avoid the wandering eyes of the nosy town people.

God, what an awful, poorly thought out idea.

So, of course, since it's kind of an off day for Stiles, it's almost midnight in a town with an alarming amount of criminal activity for such a small town. And Stiles is walking down seedy alleyways to avoid prying eyes.

Worst. Idea. Ever.

Well maybe not the worst; there was this one time, when him and Scott were younger, they thought that jumping off of a roof into a pool was a good idea. It was a two story house and a six feet deep pool. Needless to say, only one of them made the jump, the other went to get help. Bet you can guess who was who.

So anyway, Stiles is walking down a dark alleyway, wondering why in the world he thought that this would go well. Shadows are undulating with the flicker of a nearby streetlight, there were not so strange squeaks coming from the dumpsters that seem to be sitting every ten feet. Stiles feels like he's in the first five minutes of a Supernatural episode. He's definitely tempting fate.

Fate's never been one to miss an opportunity.

"What the hell are you doing?" Ah well, if he's going to die at least it's at the hands of someone who possibly won't make him sound like a complete and total girl. Is it weird that that is what he thinks as he turns to face Derek. Derek, who's standing at the mouth of the alleyway in his leather jacket, looking like him being there is the most natural thing in the world.

"Well hello, I just woke up alone on an exam table in a vet clinic after being kidnapped by crazy witches. Excuse me for wanting to go home." Stiles was totally nervous, but that sure didn't stop the sarcasm and sass from coming through. Everyone is pretty sure that, no matter the situation, Stiles will always be running his mouth, even if he may be gagged.

"The pack and your dad have been waiting for you to wake up for the past three hours." Derek says as he takes a few slow steps forward.

That word, 'waiting', it makes him aware of something. It’s right there, just out of memory's reach.

Stiles paced a small portion of the alleyway while Derek looked on, totally confused. Waiting, waiting, waiting. Something he needed to do... The souls!

He could feel them in the back of his mind, still in the same area as before he was kidnapped. He has to help them, can't let them be stuck in a world where no one can see them. He knows all too well what that can be like.

"I've got to go." And Stiles just takes off running, he doesn't see the confusion and hurt flashing across Derek's shadow hidden face before he closes himself off and walks away with a hunch to his shoulders.

Stiles ran for the evergreen forest that surrounded his small town, which you know, dumb idea; he didn't have a flashlight or anything to combat the darkness. He stumbled over tree roots and other things blindly, fortunately only coming out of it with a few scrapes and bruises.

Seeing souls is... I don't want to say it's a unique experience or anything like that, the movies are actually pretty accurate. (Which, questions! Lots of them!) So it's kind of what you would expect, two figures in black and white stumbling around an empty field cursing the world, the witches, and each other for dragging the other into the impossible situation.

In fact, they were so wrapped up in shouting at each other that they didn't even notice Stiles stumbling into the clearing. It was... pretty fucking amusing actually. Two ghosts spending their time stuck on earth screaming at each other. Definitely, not something you see every day.

"You're a fucking werewolf and you couldn't sense fifteen fucking people surrounding us?!" The girl shouted, hand frantically portraying her anger. Her dark hair swayed behind her as she walked quickly towards the boy. A slim, pale finger pointed and read to poke at the solid chest in front of her; she was clearly ready to say a lot more.

Before she could speak the man, who really couldn't have been more than twenty-five, threw his hands up in frustration and agitation. His handsome face contorted as he shouted; "Well, excuse me! Aren't you a dryad, shouldn't _you_ be connected to the land and all that? Shouldn't _you_ have been more aware?!" His eyebrows raised in question.

"God, you are such an asshole!" She screamed.

Stiles is pretty sure that if she could have picked something up, she definitely would have thrown something at the guy.

The guy sighs, defeated, and turns away from the girl, which is when he catches sight of Stiles trying not to laugh at the scene they made.

"Rose! This guy can see us!" Argument forgotten in his excitement. "Thank god! Can you get me away from her? She a complete nightmare." He rolled his eyes, message clear: _women_.

"Me?! You're the reason we got into this whole mess anyway!" She looks totally affronted, hand on her chest and everything, her face seemed to spasm and she took a menacing step forward, fist clenching at her sides.

The guy looks at him as if to say 'really, this again?’

Stiles couldn't help the small laugh that escaped him. "How about I take both of you away from here?"

They both sagged in relief. Eyes towards the sky, silently thanking their gods.

"That would be awesome." They said in unison.

*********************

When Stiles finally slunk through the front door of the Stilinski house it was well into the morning, the first few tinges of red could be seen on the horizon, and he was beyond exhausted. All the light where off and Stiles was ready to curl up and sleep for the next two days, more than ready really. So when can imagine his exasperation when the living room lights came on and the whole pack was sitting there waiting for him.

"Where have you been?"

"Are you okay?"

"What the hell?!"

All chorused through the room and Stiles just was not up to this. Nope. But as soon as he took one step towards the door everyone stood up, ready to pounce at any. Sudden. Movement.

So he is left with few choices, and it would be much easier to just answer them and their stupid question that he isn't awake enough to deal with. He wonders briefly if they can smell exhaustion   or if they can plainly see the bags under his eyes yet.

"I had something that I needed to take care of as soon as possible, it _really_ couldn't wait. Am I okay, that's a matter of perception, I'm better now than I was earlier but not as good as I was two days ago. But my painkillers are wearing off so, who knows. As for these," Stiles paused after making the vague gesture towards his back, searching for the right words. "I've had them forever, I got them from my mom, and she was an angel of death, sort of, too. Mostly I don't really do anything, just help souls who get stuck cross over, nothing too special. I can't heal or anything, not like you guys can. Obvious." He made another vague gesture but this time towards his chest, covered in stitches and bandages.

Everyone was oddly quiet for once, staring off into space for no apparent reason.

After a few moments of that, that silence had Stiles nervously ticking like a time bomb, Scott finally spoke up.

"How come you never told me?" It was a quiet question, even for Scott. Plus, isn't the answer kind of painfully obvious?

Lydia snorted at the question from her spot on the couch. "I think that's kind of obvious." She said with, surprisingly, awe.

Erica nodded in agreement, still unable to tear her eyes away, even for a moment.

Stiles looked around the cramped living room, there was a reason pack meetings never occurred at the Stilinski place, and yet somehow the seven of them had managed to cram themselves into the couch and one chair available. Well really, the six of them, Derek was lurking in the corner closest to the door like the creep he was.

"I'm your best friend, your brother, why didn't you say anything to _me_? Especially after..." After becoming a werewolf. After their lives seemed to start crumbling around them and Scott started clinging to everyone around him. After everything.

Stiles didn't have an answer that would make sense to them. Sure, they were a bunch of werewolves, but they hardly accepted him when they thought he was human. Would he want their sudden acceptance at finding out that that wasn't true? No, if they were going to want and need him it would be because they like Stiles just the way he was. Not because he was another freak to add to their circus.

Looking around the room, they all looked confused and worried and for a moment Stiles thought he had said everything out loud.

He didn't, thank god, but he had been a little too quiet for a little too long. Everyone just looked more lost and confused the longer they sat in silence.

"Well?" Scott prompted once more.

It didn't seem like Stiles was going to be able to weasel his way out of it, if the determined look on Lydia's face and the casual arched eyebrow from a certain leather clad creeper were anything to go by.

As soon as he opened his mouth everyone seemed to lean forward in their seats.

"I guess... I was scared. Before the whole werewolf thing, I kind of thought of myself as a freak of nature." Stiles started slowly. "And then after..." He trailed off, unsure of how to continue.

"I could have handled it. Before I was turned, I could have handled it." Scott practically whispered. "You should have told me."

"It wasn't your decision to make. Just because you can handle it now doesn't mean you could have then. And even if you could have, I wasn't ready. I was always the freak, the outcast. I didn't need to lose the one friend I had managed to make." Stiles said, emotion was starting to make him choke up.

"Why didn't you say anything after I had turned?" Scott asked, everyone else seemed to be nodding along to the question; all while looking like puppies with their wide confused eyes and curiously cocked heads.

"I don't know. I guess I was still scared. It's not like most of you guys seem to like me anyway. None of you would have a reason to accept me other than Scott."

The room was silent once more. Everyone looked guilty, no one disagreed or said anything to argue against what he said. So, he left.

*********************

Okay, he didn't just _leave_. He went upstairs to his room like a scorned child and grabbed a shirt and jacket. Then he left.

**********************

Stiles raced down the front steps of his home; he pulled on his red hoodie as he went, choking back tears. It was one thing to not think people wanted you around and quite another thing to say it out loud and not be refuted. Simultaneously losing pretty much all of your friends definitely was the cherry on top of this wonderful cake.

He started running as soon as he hit the sidewalk, he didn't care if the wolves chased after him, or even if they could easily catch up to him. All he wanted was to get away and just breathe. So adding to his pile of 'good' decisions for the night he ran to the preserve.

Eventually he found a small clearing and laid down in the grass, staring up at the night sky.

"Stiles?"

Chris Argent stood at the edge of the clearing; his crossbow slowly came down to rest at his side. He looked confused and worried, parent face engaged, as he slowly, deliberately, made his way over to Stiles. "What are you doing out here?"

Too many reasons to actually explain. Stiles settled for a shrug and a deep sigh.

Chris seemed to get it.

He didn't join Stiles on the ground, or kneel down to be closer to him. Instead, Chris stood towering over him.

"You can't blame them for not finding you. You and Derek couldn't have been missing for more than a few hours. Hell, I wasn't even looking for you when I showed up." Chris said, all parent voice, crossbow still in hand.

Chris didn't get it.

Wait.

"What do you mean you weren't looking for us? How'd you find the witches? Why were you there all guns blazing? And with a dozen other hunters no less. You never take more than six guys, otherwise it draws too much attention. Why so many?" The gears had kick started in Stiles' brain and there was no stopping them anytime soon. He opened his mouth to keep going but Chris pointedly put up his hand to stop Stiles from continuing.

"The witches killed a hunter. Someone like that doesn't go unpunished with most groups, so they called me in for help since I'm familiar with the area. It took us awhile but we were able to track them down. That's when we found you." Chris said calmly.

Stiles was actually quiet for once as he processed what the hunter was saying. "So, you know then." It wasn't a question, and Chris didn't answer. "Jesus, is there anyone that doesn't know?" Stiles flopped against the forest floor.

"Jackson doesn't."

Stiles looked over at the hunter and couldn't believe the self satisfied smile on the man's face. He snorted his amusement; the man wasn't wrong.

As soon as Jackson had gotten to England, he seemed to have cut ties with everyone outside of his family. Lydia and Jackson seemed to have moved on from one another pretty quickly for two people whose love saved each other.

Neither of them said anything after that, perfectly content to sit there and think. Well, not perfectly content, but Stiles had a lot on his mind and he needed to sort through it all. Which meant that Stiles wiggled around in the grass while looking up at the night sky, lips curled in concentration, while the hunter watched on, amused.

Why couldn't his friends understand that he'd been hiding the wings for so goddamn long that he didn't know how not to anymore? On the other hand, his friends were all so damn nosy anyway Stiles seriously doubted he would have been able to keep everything hidden for much longer. Regardless.

It doesn't take long for Stiles to loose track of how long he's been sitting there, thinking about his friends and their reactions. For the most part, everyone just seemed confused as to why he hadn't told anyone more than anything he'd been expecting. Clearly they didn't think of him as some sort of freak or anything like that; not that they could talk. Fucking werewolves, the lot of them.

He didn't notice Chris calling his name or even when the older man left.

And another thing, they hardly even paid attention to him anyway, what makes them think that they even _deserved_ to know. Okay, he can understand Scott; but the others? He didn't own them anything.


	5. Chapter 5

Bear in mind, Stiles didn't immediately recognize that the bad ass hunter has left. So, you know, he thought he was totally safe laying in that field in the middle of the night... in the middle of a preserve that had an array of supernatural activity at all hours. Totally not... _completely_... his fault that he didn't notice anything immediately. Out in the forest that made up the preserve, there was hardly such a thing a silence, so if Stiles jumped at every little noise he'd have a heart attack in the first five minutes of sitting out there.  
   
So excuse~ him for not immediately thinking that the rustle of the bushes could be anything other than a rabbit, it's not _everyday_ that a something or another is out roaming the woods looking for its next victim. The number of times Stiles hasn't had anything happen to him completely outweighs the number of times something has.  
   
"Everyone is worried about you." Derek says, moving out of the shadows to stand next to where Stiles is laying in the grass. "They seem to think that they've done something horrible."  
   
Stiles jumps, silently cursing the day he became friends with people involved in the supernatural world. They all lived to give him heart attacks.  
   
Stiles doesn't know what to say to that so he just sort of lays there for a little while longer. Eventually Derek sits down next to him. Both quietly watching the night sky blur into the bright colors of the early morning; pink, orange, and yellow melding beautifully as a greeting from the sun.  
   
"Why'd you run out?" Derek asks. He does it quietly, seemingly knowing that he might not get an answer.  
   
It takes Stiles all of five seconds to formulate his thoughts and another three minutes of uncomfortable silence for him to find the right words.  
   
"It's just that, all my life I've known I was an odd one. A freak of nature." Derek lets out a low growl at the words but let's Stiles continue. "The idea that there are people out there who would accept me with the snap of a finger is just... I never thought it would happen. Never let myself think it would. And by the time Scott got bitten... it was second nature. I didn't think about it.  
   
Get my homework done. Make sure Dad eats well. Don't get another detention from Harris. Then my list of priorities got longer. Make sure the pack is safe. Make sure the Argents don't go crazy... again. But making sure that no one found out, it's always been number one." Stiles looks over at Derek, able to read him fairly well after all of the time that he'd spent wishing he could. His broad shoulders were hunched, his face carefully blank. Basically he was very emotional; sad, understanding, angry, and confused probably.  
   
"If it helps, I knew I would be able to tell you guys someday. It takes time to come out of habits like that. It's not like learning not to chew on your nails, this is a bone deep anxiety. I'm not just going to blurt it out like, 'Oh hey Derek you look beautiful yet again today, by the way I have wings." He sighed. "Though it does sort of sound like something I would do."  
   
They both stay quiet for a moment, letting the words sink in.  
   
"Anyway, once I realized that I needed to hide I started wearing baggy clothes. Played the part of a normal awkward teenager. Looked like a normal awkward teenager. And aside from a few side trips, I became a normal teenager. So then, you know, werewolves." Stiles started up again, running a shaky hand through his longer hair and then giving it a not so gently tug in frustration. "And while you guys might be supernatural, I've got giant ass fucking wings sprouting out of the space between my shoulder blades; all the happens to you is your eyebrows disappear."  
   
When Stiles looked over at Derek he almost couldn't hold back a laugh at the highly constipated look on the alpha's face. He couldn't help but flashback to a day when Scott was having a hissy fit about being with Allison. Or when Jackson and Lydia were having a fight during a pack meeting, before he left obviously. Anytime the poor alpha had to talk about or listen to _feelings_ he just sort of shut down and got this look on his face. The very same one he's got now.  
   
"You should just... talk to them? I'm sure they'll understand." Derek tried.  
   
"Wow, why didn't I think of that? It all seems so simple now."  
   
Derek just glares at Stiles, beautiful green eyes nothing more than narrow slits of disdain. Stiles just glared back but with less success, too baby faced to really make it work.  
   
"Fine!" Stiles shouted a few minutes later, throwing his hands up in defeat. "I'll go talk to them."  
   
"Good."  
   
And yet, they continue to sit on the grass and stare at each other. Not really glaring at each other anymore, more like they were just waiting for the other to get up, to move towards talking to the pack. Neither of them did, content to sit there and soak up the others presence.  
   
After a minute or two, Derek breaks the silence with a strange glint in his eyes. "So, beautiful huh?"  
   
Stiles rolls his eyes, heat rising in his cheeks. Of course Derek would zero in on that. He shoves at the older man, trying to distract him from his own rising embarrassment. Stiles gets up, hoping to... Walk away from the situation? He isn't really sure.  
   
Derek doesn't let him get far though; gripping his wrist and pulling him back in.  
   
Stiles is left staring at Derek's stupidly impassive face for just a little too long and words just explode out of his mouth.  
   
"I didn't mean it! I mean, you are beautiful and stupidly hot, but I didn't mean it like some sort of confession. I was trying to demonstrate how one could not simply drop a bomb like that on someone during casual conversation. Not to say that I would have admitted feelings that I may or may not have about you during conversation. We wouldn't even really be talking about feelings during casual conversation. Your eyebrows of doom usually shut everyone down pretty fast. You're that only one of us that can actually get Scott to shut up about Allison for more than two seconds. Like that time when Allison and Chris had to get out of town and we decided to go camping and Scott wouldn't shut up about how Allison's hair would have looked: wet and glistening in the summer sun. And all you did was glare at him and he finally shut his trap? That was awesome. You're pretty awesome sometimes. Not to say that you're not awesome all the time." He stopped to talk a big gulp of air. God, he needed to shut up. Why had Derek let him go on this long? Everything was derailing and he just couldn't stop.  
   
Stiles doesn't get the chance to keep going, thank god, because someone's covering his mouth. Derek covering his mouth to stop him from talking isn't exactly a new thing, though usually he does it with a hand... not his mouth.  
   
The kiss, if could call it that, wasn't anything like Stiles thought it would be, and he thought about it a lot. It was unexpectedly soft and nothing more than a light press of mouths, almost a question really. Still, he couldn't help but whimper into it, pawing at Derek's shoulders to pull him closer, moving his lips to deepen the kiss. He can feel more than hear Derek growl before strong hands gripped his waist as Derek reeled him, the kiss became more insistent and demanding.  
   
Stiles lightly dragged his hands down from Derek's broad shoulders to his hard and muscular chest. Gingerly, Stiles parted his lips and ran his tongue over the seam of Derek's lips, silently asking for entry. That's when the entire kiss changed from sweet and chaste to something filled with passion as they devoured each other's mouths, not caring when their noses or teeth clanked together as they moved, hands wandering and roaming over each other's bodies.  
   
Derek's shirt was off before Stiles' hands had even reached the hem, Stiles' shirt was not too far behind. They collided back together, hands all over each other, gripping and pulling the other closer.  
   
"Wait." Stiles leaned back and away from Derek. "As much as I would absolutely love for this to continue, I need to get everything sorted out with the pack before we go any further." He panted.  
   
Derek doesn't say anything, he just made a noise that sounded like agreement before he somewhat reluctantly rolled off of Stiles and to the side with an exasperated sigh. He laid in the grass for a moment and collected himself, they both did, before he stood and offered Stiles his hand. "Alright, let's get this done."  
   
"Don't sound so put out, you're the one who suggested this in the first place." Stiles laughs. "Besides, it's the right thing to do and you know it."  
   
Derek just grumbled something under his breath that sounded an awful lot like 'that doesn't mean I have to agree with it,' and Stiles couldn't help but chuckle as they started walking.  
   
While they walked their arms brushed together, far more distracting than it should've been. Every time Stiles moved away so that he could actually think about something other than Derek, the older man would move in closer. After a minute of walking Derek had become a line of heat down his side, and the basted dared to have a smug grin on his stupidly handsome face and that's fine.  
   
Stiles is practically a champion at the distracting game.  
   
Without looking, he slowly reached out and tangled their fingers together. Stiles couldn't keep a smile off his face when Derek tightened his grip and gave his hand an answering squeeze. The older man only barely managed to keep from tripping when Stiles brought their intertwined hands up to press a kiss to the back of Derek's hand.  
   
Stiles felt like a schoolgirl as they walked to the cars, all giddy because some boy was holding his hand. But, Derek wasn't some boy... he was _Derek Hale_. Bad ass werewolf extraordinaire that wasn't always that great of an alpha (not for lack of trying), secret cuddle bunny (Those teeth! [Squeal]), and all round okay guy; and Stiles may or may not be completely in love with the guy.  
 

*********************  
 

Back at the house the rest of the pack is totally freaking out. They overwhelmed Stiles right after he'd woken up... and he was injured no less!  
   
Scott was beating himself up the most; obviously, being the best friend and all. Erica, Boyd, and Isaac seemed to be mostly uncomfortable more than anything else; unsure if they should follow their Alpha's lead and leave or... what. Allison and Lydia were, well, themselves mostly; talking and carrying, but still concerned about Stiles and stuck wanting to make sure he was okay.  
   
"Should- should we go look for him?" Isaac piped up, shifting awkwardly from side to side while also hunching in on himself.  
   
Scott answered somewhat hesitantly; "I don't know, maybe we should give him some space. We did kind of overwhelm him. Maybe he needs some time to... collect himself?"  
   
Isaac's lower lip trembled slightly before he pulled himself together. "He needs to know that what he said before was wrong, when he said that the rest of us wouldn't want him here. He needs to know that we don't keep him around because he does our research; we keep him around because he's pack, family."  
   
Everyone else in the room nodded their agreement, you could see the determination on their faces. They were going to make Stiles see just how important he was or they were going to die trying gosh diddly darn it!  
   
They rallied at the front door, ready to hunt the boy down; but, when they opened the door Stiles and Derek blocked the way. Their hands were clasped tightly together, and they both wore equally giddy smiles.  
   
"Hey guys! You all are just the people I wanted to talk to." He smiled and stepped forward to push past the group. "I wanted to talk about... well, everything really. It's been a pretty eventful night." He continued with an uncomfortable laugh, running his fingers through slightly longer than normal hair.  
   
"Stiles, it's okay. You don't have to." Erica said. She looked a little pained saying it but the gesture itself was much appreciated.  
   
"Yeah, we shouldn't have pushed you." Isaac added, looking like a total kicked puppy.  
   
"Guys, it's fine. I'll tell you guys anything and everything you want to know." Everyone scooted a little closer at his words, mouths out as they got ready to bombard him with questions. "In the morning, I'm tired. And my back hurts. I need to sleep." Sleep, yeah, that is totally what he needs.  
   
The group of teenagers groaned in disappointment in unison before they somewhat hesitantly shuffled out of the room. Calling out their goodbyes on their way out the door, only Derek stayed behind, face as blank and stoic as ever.  
   
As soon as the sounds of the pack's cars went silent in the growing distance, Stiles threw himself into Derek's arms. He smiled like a maniac when Derek gently wrapped his arms around him, mindful of his injuries.  
   
"I thought you needed some sleep." Derek murmured against his cheek. His stubble rubbed against Stiles' pale skin deliciously as he pressed quick kisses to the moles the dotted along his cheek, jaw, and down his neck.  
   
"I don't know," Stiles gasped when Derek bit down gently on his neck. "I'm just not feeling tired anymore."  
   
"Mm. I wonder why." Derek laughed, his large hands wandered under the cotton of Stiles' graphic tee. Blunt nails lightly scratching over the younger man's hips and stomach, making the muscles there jump and Stiles' moan.  
   
"Less talking more kissing." Stiles said with a small smile. He moved his hands into the dark tresses of Derek's hair, surprised by the softness, and tried to pull him up so that he could attack the older man's mouth. Not caring one bit about teeth clanking together or anything like that.  
   
But, Derek resisted and instead started to run his mouth gently up Stiles' neck, headed up towards his mouth. He ran plush lip up to the edge of Stiles' jaw, over his chin, and just as Stiles tilted his head to make their lips meet; suddenly and unexpectedly, Derek jerked down and sucked hard at Stiles' pale and unmarked neck. Derek wanted to mark every inch of the squirming, whimpering boy under his hands.  
   
Derek laved his tongue over the still forming bruise and prided himself in Stiles' answering shiver. While he pulled away to finally make his way up to Stiles' sinful mouth he lightly grazed his teeth over the rapidly coloring piece of flesh.  
   
Just as Derek begins to work the stupid shirt up Stiles' torso and reconnect their mouths, someone clears their throat and the two boys jump apart.  
   
"Boys." The Sheriff says simply. His hair is mussed from running his hand through it, and he's definitely wearing bugs bunny pajama pants but he looks just as intimidating as always. "Keep it PG while I am in the house." And he just skedaddles on back to his room. "Keep it safe and use protection!"  
   
"Oh my god." Stiles says with a nervous laugh. He looks over at Derek and loses it when he sees the terrified look on the other man's face. "Did that really just happen? Fuck, that's..."  
   
"Yeah."  
   
"I mean, he saw... and...." Honestly, Stiles couldn't think of any words because he was still thinking about the hot and heavy make out. He could still feel the warm heavy weight of Derek's hands gripping his hips.  
   
"Really?" Derek asked incredulously. "After what just happened?"  
   
What the fuck is he talking... oh my god! Super sniffers! Derek can totally smell his lust, which means he's probably been able to smell it for a long time.  
   
"You fucker! You can smell my... feelings for you and you never made a move?!" Stiles punched Derek in the arm. "We could have been sucking face for forever!"  
   
Derek, the asshole, just shrugs.  
   
"Yeah, see how that answer works out for you in the future." Stiles mumbled to himself.  
   
Derek doesn't look worried, of course. But that so isn't what Stiles should be thinking about.  
   
Ugh, he need to be thinking about what he's going to say to the pack tomorrow, or, er, later today.  
   
Stiles' stomach immediately started to twist up in knots at the thought. He didn't want to talk to them, but he needed too.  
   
"Stiles?" Derek asked, watching the younger man pace slightly, brows furrowed in concentration.  
   
"What am I going to say to them? They're going to feel awful or, like, pity me and my freakishness." Stiles worked himself into a panic, maybe they would all just realize how weird he was. Maybe they would all just finally drop him, too tired of him to deal with another problem.  
   
God, he just wanted to pull his hair out. When he reached up to do so Derek reached over and grabbed his arms, refusing to let him. You can't fight a werewolf's brute strength, and Stiles didn't even try; he just collapsed forward into the werewolf's hard chest.  
   
He didn't say anything to Derek, he didn't seem to need to. Derek seemed to understand and wrapped Stiles up in his arms, tucking the younger man's face into the crook of his neck. Offering comfort as best he could.  
 

*********************  
 

He isn't sure how long they stayed like that before they moved to the couch, all he knew is that he woke up in Derek's arms. If he could just... keep doing that that would be great. Waking up cuddled against a radiator that cuddles back? Best. Thing. Ever.  
   
Everything else is just an amazing bonus. Like the way Derek looks all rumpled from sleep, or how every time Stiles even thinks about moving Derek just pulls him in closer.  
   
Actually, that last part is a bit problematic, because he needs to pee. Like right now.  
   
Stiles shook the older man gently. "Derek." No response. He shook a little harder, volume raising from a quiet whisper as he grew more desperate. "Der, let me up." Again, no response. "God damn it Derek, if you don't let me up I will pee on you and everything you love. Plus, no kissing."  
   
Miraculously, the grip holding him in place relaxed.  
 

*********************  
 

Once Stiles was actually able to get up and take care of some private business, he realized just how not ready for everything he was.  
   
He wondered around his house, happy his father was working a double shift that day and wouldn't be back till late. Then again, he was pretty much on his own until Derek decided to get up.  
   
What he needed was a distraction!  
   
So he did what any 'normal' anxiety ridden teenager would do and started stress cleaning.  
   
He doesn't know why he does it, he just does. It distracts, gets things ready, and I guess you could say it gives him a sense of control when he doesn't know what's going to happen. Or something like that.  
   
Stiles manages to clean to entirety of the downstairs before he hears Derek unceremoniously fall, literally, off the couch and shuffle into the bathroom without a word. Like an emotionally stunted teenager. Oh god, they were rubbing off on him.

Stiles is destracted from the adorably sleep rumpled Derek by the text alert of his phone.

**Scotty Boy**

          Hey, when do u wnt us @ ur place?

 

That is an excellent question... 

**Stiles NotGonnaTellYouMyFirstName**

        I dunno... maybe in a hr?

 

That gives him plenty of time to freak out and overthink every little thing that they could possibly do. Perfect.

 

**Scotty Boy**

          K

 

One hour and everyone will be here. One hour and he'll have to talk to a room full of people about the one thing he's managed to keep secret for the past seventeen years. He's gonna puke.

"What's wrong?" Derek asked sounding a little panicked himself. 

"The pack is going to be here in an hour and I have absolutely no idea what I'm going to say or how they're going to react."

"Oh... The pack... They love you. They aren't just going to leave because of something like this." He sounds so pained it almost enough to make Stiles laugh. 

"Yeah, you're right. It'll work out." Stiles breathed.

Derek sighed before continuing, "I know I'm not..." Cue another pained look. "The best at talking about my feelings and an usually all for hiding and waiting for things to pass, and I know you are too. But, this is something that they should know. Or at least have the chance to learn more about, and if you don't want to tell them everything right off the bat then that's fine. I think it'll be good for you to talk to them about it though."

 

*********************

 

The door bell rang and Stiles very nearly jumped out of his skin; the pack was here. He'd spent the past hour freaking the fuck out, calming down and getting utterly sidetracked and distracted by Derek and his perfect pink lips.

Speaking of, he was straddling said werewolf; hair a  
mess, lips flushed and swollen wasn't exactly how he planned on answering the door. He didn't plan on having to speak in front of a bunch of werewolves half hard either. This is his life now. Everyone would always know exactly what and who he was doing. Cue the resigned sigh.

He extracted himself from the werewolf, nerves making him a little more clumsy than usual, and ambled unsteadily towards the door. Before he even moved to turn the knob he looked back at Derek, watching the werewolf move into a more suitable position for company, waiting for him to meet his eye. Once Derek did, and saw the nerves, he _attempted_ to offer a reassuring smile and silently encouraged Stiles to open the door.

So he did.

Immediately the pack began pouring in, pushing past him and into the living room. Eager to hear everything that Stiles had to say. Erica was the first one in, claiming the coveted armchair, and Boyd was the last, sitting in front of her silent and stoic as ever. Couples pairing off into positions that never looked comfortable and every settled in and looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to start.

"Okay.. Okay, where should I start?" Stiles asked himself, pacing infront of them.

"How about the beginning?" Scott provided oh so helpfully.

"Alright," He sputtered slightly. Of all the times to not be able to talk. "Well, I've had them- the, ah, wings- all my life. Or at least as long as I can remember. My mom..." His voice hitched and he could feel his face fall. "My mom used to call me her special little angel, but that I could never ever show anyone who special I was because people wouldn't understand and would want to hurt me. So I did, didn't tell a soul. And when she died, it was just my dad and me." 

He could already see Scott opening his mouth to ask something and quickly jumper to continue. "After the whole werewolves are real thing I didn't really know how to bring it up, I was so used to keeping it quiet that I didn't know how to even being thinking of how to bring it up."

"You know we aren't going to treat you any differently right? We like you Stiles, especially when you're not completely." Surprisingly it was Isaac that said it.

"Do you have any super cool powers?" Erica quickly jumped to ask. 

"Can you fly?" Lydia asked somewhat suspiciously.

"Guess I'm the only human now." Allison muttered to herself.

It felt like a dam breaking inside of him as instantaneous relief washed over him at the pack's almost immediate agreement. It was amazing that Stiles had been able to did a group of people that accepted him for exactly who and what he was. No one should have to hide or lie to feel like they belong, everyone deserves to have at least one person with whom they are completely connected to. When Stiles looks around his living room at all the smiling or somewhat more chipper than normal faces he knows that he's found exactly where he belongs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm think I might make this into a series and give Stiles some super awesome powers. Let me know what you guys think!
> 
>  
> 
> Hope you like reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!


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